By Dana Dedrick,
aka
Swimming was, as always, the only way to escape the brutal heat that stifled the midwest and threatened to parch the fields in its relentless anger. After pedaling feverishly down the dusty gravel road and dumping their bikes unceremoniously in the ditch near a small grove of scrub oak trees, three sweaty young boys made their way through a small gap in the ancient barbed wire that lined the cornfield.
. . Once inside the fence, they ran between the rows of corn, heedless of the many grasshoppers that leaped in panic at their approach, often clinging to their T-shirts as they passed. The boys continued running down the slope towards the grove of large cottonwood trees at the bottom of the hill, where a swimming hole lay hidden.
. . The water was always icy cold there. They'd heard it was
'spring-fed' ...whatever that meant. They only knew that it was darn cold and always felt good after a dusty ride on a hot day.
They hollered to each other as they sped through the corn.
. . "...last one in's a rotten egg!" the leader yelled. The boys vied for position as they ran. The heavier, and smaller of the three, falling slightly behind his thinner rivals.
. . Slowing as they reached the rim of rocks that surrounded the pond, they gingerly made their way over the dozens of large stones that had once been the bane of tractors, to where the ground was clear and soft again at the water's edge.
. . After they'd pulled off their grubby T-shirts and sneakers, wearing nothing but cut-off blue jeans in various stages of fadedness, they each jumped in amidst the squeals and jubilance of boys in summer.
. . The three of them splashed and hollered for a few minutes before the cold water began to make them all a little numb. One by one, they climbed out of the small pool and walked a few dripping feet to where the long grass lay matted from their frequent visits. All around them, the cornfields of their neighbors stood like silent sentinels guarding their private kingdom.
. . Occasionally, the cornstalks seemed to wave to each other as a breeze stirred their lush green leaves in its passing.
The three boys lay still in the grass beside the quiet pond, their fingers intertwined behind their somewhat small heads as they gazed upwards, silent for the moment, idly watching the clouds that billowed like huge cottonballs, high in the sky overhead.
. . The tallest, a sandy haired boy with brown eyes, a pug nose and seemingly hundreds of small, dark moles which covered his entire body from head to toe, pulled a long shaft of green grass from its sheath, stuck it in his mouth, and began to suck on the stem contemplatively. The distinctively bitter-sweet taste of green chlorophyll was like a cherry on top of a summer sundae, fulfilling his winter's longing for just such a day as this.
. . All was quiet for a time, allowing for a sigh or two as they gazed into the summer sky. Somewhere nearby, a meadow lark trebled its joyous notes to the world. A summer zephyr whispered fragrant warmth across the great cornfields that surrounded their idyllic kingdom on the plain, kissing the innumerable leaves
of the great cottonwood trees that surrounded this small oasis of innocence, and momentarily causing goose bumps on the boy's damp bodies.
. . "Know what I'd like right now?" asked one of the sky. He was, at ten, the oldest and tallest of the trio, and being the oldest and tallest meant that he normally could talk the others into doing whatever he wanted to.
. . Without waiting for the obligatory 'What?' -he answered the question himself, "I'd like a cherry popsicle," he said, wistfully.
. . "Yeah!" replied the second boy, smiling through a missing front tooth that he'd lost in a bicycle accident earlier that spring. "And rootbeer, n' cookies, n' pie, n' ice cream!" he added, lustfully. He then laughed brightly. They all laughed.
. . This one was nine, and a little shorter than the first. That made him second in command of their small troupe but he was usually the first to respond to the ideas of their leader. His red hair, freckles, and bright blue eyes were full of fire and mischief.
. . "...an Irish thing." his mother always said.
. . "Yeah!" echoed the third. "And a hamburger, and hot dogs, and chips and lemonade!"
. . As he spoke, he was grinning dreamily and opening his arms as if to embrace the feast he could clearly imagine before him. They all laughed and agreed with him.
. . Although he was only eight and shorter than the others, his appetite was always larger than their's and this was evident by his size, as he outweighed them by a good twenty-five pounds each! His dark brown hair was still wet and hung like a sheep dog's in his eyes until he pushed it back up on his head, revealing a nasty scar, the remnants of his own misfortunate run-in with a barn door handle two years earlier.
. . The clouds slowly drifted by as the boys pointed out different shapes, sometimes arguing about them. More arguments bloomed as they debated which superhero would win if it came down to a fair fight.
. . One, the oldest, was confident that Superman would undoubtedly triumph over Batman, due to his strength and invulnerability. The other two were betting that Batman would use his 'Bat-arang,' tie a kryptonite wire to it, and wrap
up the superhero's legs; rendering him helpless.
. . The first boy immediately pointed out that he'd said 'fair fight,' and that wouldn't be 'fair'. They then argued about that for a while.
. . Conversation ceased, and squealing, giggling fun started again when the leader decided it was time to hit the water once more. He stood up, surveyed the land around and proclaimed loudly that they were the luckiest people in the whole world right now; having all this to themselves on such a terribly hot day.
. . Amidst high pitched screams and hoots of victory against the heat, they all jumped back into the cold, clean water where they splashed and laughed until the numbness once again drove them back onto the pond's bank, and they laid spread-eagle in the sun, warming themselves like pale turtles on a beach.
. . There were small arguments, teasing, and once in a while some arm-punching, but most of all, there was only sky, and sun, and water. The clouds continued to drift by aimlessly without a care. The sun continued to slide across the blue sky, unhurried and unfettered by responsibility. The birds continued to tweet and warble spontaneously, heedless of any worries, and the boys continued to be boys, on a hot summer's day at the pond.
. . After a while, when the conversation began to wane, the afternoon sun and their appetites told them it must be close to suppertime. Without a word, all three stood up, simultaneously sighed and lovingly looked around at the pond, the cornfields, the sky, the clouds, and the trees, wishing in secret that this time could last forever. Putting on their bedraggled tennis shoes and T-shirts, they again made their way carefully over the rocks and began the long walk back to the road. Once, they stopped and threw a rock at some dark shape one of them thought he saw in the cornfield ahead and to the right... but nothing came out of it.
Soon they were back to the hole in the fence, back to their bikes, and back to the summer's heat, sweating like they'd never been swimming at all.
. . Up the gravel road they pedaled three abreast, their small voices fading off into summer. Their bikes leave a plume of brown dust, the only fading witness to their having passed that way at all. In another minute, they ride up over the hill and are out of sight, leaving that single, solitary, sultry afternoon to exist now... only in my memory.
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